


The Princess and the Kingsguard

by tarthiana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cinderella Elements, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Fluff and Smut, For the JB Smut Swap, Jaime is a giant romantic, Male Cinderella, Marriage, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29354343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarthiana/pseuds/tarthiana
Summary: An island princess who refuses to marry is forced to attend the Crownlands royal wedding. A man from a ruined family is made to serve an evil king. When they meet, everything changes.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 74
Kudos: 157
Collections: The Exchange that was Promised: Jaime x Brienne Smut Swap 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilsherlockian1975](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsherlockian1975/gifts).



> Thank you to my beta lewispanda.
> 
> My prompt was book canon Cinderella, with Jaime as Cinderella and Brienne as a princess.

Selwyn looked down at his daughter with disappointment. She had refused another suitor.

“He was too old,” she sniffed, wiping the blood off her hands.

“Ser Humphrey is from a respected family, and you broke his collarbone,” he argued.

“He told me that he would beat my fighting spirit out of me. It would have never worked.”

“Brienne, you are already 26. Your options are limited.”

“Then I shall be a maid forever,” she huffed, storming off to her chambers.

Selwyn deflated. He loved his daughter, but she was as stubborn as an ox. Since the princess of Tarth’s thirteenth name day, he had been arranging matches—hoping to safeguard the Tarth legacy. Brienne was his only living child. When he died, she would be the Evenstar, ruler of the island kingdom.

Every betrothal had been met with ire. Brienne knew that men wanted the title, wealth and security that came with being in the royal family. They never wanted _her._

_How could anyone_ , she thought as she unbraided her hair. A kind person would have described Brienne as homely—a cruel one would have just called her ugly. She was large and broad, thick with muscle from swordplay. Horsey teeth, large lips, and a crooked nose adorned her face.

So Brienne refused every man that came to her father.

* * *

“How many gowns still fit you?” King Selwyn asked Brienne as they ate their breakfast of smoked fish and bread.

“The blue one with the padded bodice and the rose one with the fur.”

He sighed thoughtfully. “I’ll have to send for a tailor.”

“Why is that?” The princess eyed her father suspiciously.

“We are visiting the Crownlands. Prince Rhaegar is getting married, finally.”

Brienne wrinkled her nose in disgust. The Targaryen prince was known in infamy throughout many kingdoms for his indecision on choosing a wife. He courted Princess Elia of Dorne for almost two years—which was quite an unusually long courtship—before breaking their attachment for Princess Lyanna of the North, whom he wooed for a year before getting bored. He would spend his time going from tourney to tourney, avoiding his duty as the king’s heir.

It was said he was exceptional on the harp and very fair of face. Noble ladies flocked to see him compete in melees. Brienne thought he was quite the cad.

“Who is the prince marrying?” she asked.

“Cersei Lannister.”

Brienne dropped her fork in shock. The Lannisters had been overthrown from the Westerlands Kingdom twenty years ago. There had been a drought, followed by rains so heavy they damaged the planting fields beyond repair. The smallfolk had been plagued with famine, and the Lannister bannermen had been taxed unjustly. House Marbrand had united the Westerlands against King Tywin and had forced his exile. The family had fled to the Crownlands, and the king there had taken pity on them, allowing the Lannisters into his court. Tywin Lannister had been appointed as an advisor to the king and remained in that position to this day.

What noble would want to be tied to a ruinous family like that?

“Cersei must be the most beautiful woman in the Crownlands for Prince Rhaegar to marry her.”

“The wedding is in a moon’s turn,” Selwyn said as he broke a piece of bread in half. “We leave in a fortnight.”

Brienne clenched her jaw but said nothing. King Selwyn was determined that they attend the wedding. Royal families and noble bachelors would be there by the dozens. He would find a husband for his daughter and the Tarth Kingdom would prosper.

* * *

Brienne had hoped they would travel only by sea, but to her great disappointment they took a wheelhouse instead. When they reached the castle gates, her ass was sore from sitting for hours.

Their quarters in the castle were immaculate, befitting a family of their station. Brienne could see Blackwater Bay from the room’s balcony. She wished she was staring at the turbulent seas of the Sapphire Isle instead.

The gown she wore was made of silk but could not compare to her doeskin breeches and leather jerkin. It made her uncomfortable; she thought she looked like a bear in a dress. Her father would never understand it.

“Would you like me to style your hair, your grace?” a maid asked tentatively. Her hair was thin and limp and no styling could hide that, but Brienne agreed and let the woman attempt to intricately braid her hair. 

“Your hair is so fair, your grace. Almost like the Targaryens.”

“Almost,” she agreed quietly.


	2. Chapter 2

Jaime stood outside the king’s bedchamber, keeping guard. No one would disturb the king while he took his wife, but Aerys found enjoyment in making his Kingsguard listen. He especially liked to task Tywin’s son with this, knowing he thought it was vile.

At seventeen, Jaime Lannister had been appointed to the Kingsguard. It was an honor, an honor he had never wanted. Aerys was cruel, vindictive even. His wife and children feared him. It was no wonder the heir to the throne chose to travel the lands instead of spending his time at court.

He let his mind wander, trying not to hear the cries of the queen. Arthur Dayne stood next to him, a stony expression on his face. He was Jaime’s mentor and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Arthur taught Jaime how to hold a sword, strike a foe and ride a horse. Jaime had squired for him briefly before being indoctrinated and had still thought he was the perfect knight. He also thought Dayne was wickedly handsome, but that was something he kept to himself.

When the king was done, they escorted him to the throne room, which was filled with foreign dignitaries, royals and wealthy nobles. They were here for Prince Rhaegar’s wedding.

When his sister had told him she was to marry the prince, Jaime had thought she was mad. She was the only Lannister not in servitude to the royal family—his younger brother Tyrion had been put in charge of the Red Keep’s sewage a month prior. It was an appointment meant to disgrace him, but Tyrion was happy to take it if it meant freedom from his father. 

“You could leave this place—marry a noble from another kingdom and be taken far from here,” Jaime had urged.

“This is our family’s chance at greatness,” Cersei had argued. “I will be a queen, Jaime. No one will hurt us with Rhaegar’s protection.”

“Rhaegar is barely in the Crownlands for more than a few days a year. How can he protect you?”

“That’s the point, brother. He isn’t here. I will have my independence, and when Aerys dies I will rule over the Crownlands in my husband’s stead. We have an agreement, Rhaegar and I.”

“Don’t you want to marry for love?”

“Don’t be childish, Jaime,” Cersei had sighed.

He hadn’t brought up the subject of his sister’s impending nuptials since. He could tell Tywin was pleased, though he would never show it. Tyrion was apathetic about the whole affair. His brother preferred the company of whores to any member of his own family, even Jaime.

King Aerys had hoped his son would marry a foreign princess, securing an alliance for the kingdom. He was not pleased with Rhaegar’s betrothed. He couldn’t punish his heir or the future queen, so Aerys Targaryen belittled her brother. He ordered Jaime to stand guard for hours without rest. He tasked him with grooming the royal stable’s horses, with washing clothes, with cleaning his personal bedchamber.

Instead of training squires, Jaime would scrub floors on his hands and knees until they ached. The day he had to wash Queen Rhaella’s blood from the King’s bed sheets, he questioned the Lord Commander’s values as a knight.

“We are sworn to protect the queen as well,” he had almost cried.

“We are,” Arthur said, so sadly. “But not from the king.”

* * *

It was late in the evening when Jaime was cleaning the armory. He had spent hours organizing weapons and polishing steel.

The thwack of a wooden sword on a training dummy echoed through the yard. Jaime froze. It was far too late for squires to be drilling. He discreetly peered through the armory doors into the training yard.

A large figure was beating the dummy with such force that Jaime winced for the inanimate object. They turned, allowing the moonlight to illuminate their face. To his surprise, the figure was a woman—a large woman, with enough strength to nearly cut a training dummy in half with a wooden sword.

She grunted as she continued her assault. It ended with a muted scream. Wiping the sweat from her brow, the woman left the yard, taking the wooden sword with her.

Jaime stood in stunned silence. Had he ever seen a woman that big? That strong? Heat rushed to his cheeks and his cock. Blushing like a maiden, Jaime returned to his task of cleaning the armory.

* * *

Evening meals for the Lannister family were a tense affair. Tywin would glare down at his children, listing his disappointments and waxing poetic about the Lannister legacy—or rather, their tarnished legacy. Tyrion and Cersei were always deep in their cups by the end of it. It made Jaime tired—like the three of them made a giant he was always battling.

Cersei’s engagement dominated conversation as of late.

“The wedding is in three days,” Cersei said after a sip of Arbor Red. “I need you both to trim your beards.”

“What’s wrong with my beard?” Tyrion asked in an affronted tone. “I worked very hard on growing it.”

“It makes you look disheveled,” his sister sniffed. “A princess cannot have ungroomed brothers. The court would gossip.”

“There is always gossip in court,” Tyrion replied. Jaime hummed in bored agreement.

“Do as your sister says,” Tywin ordered, speaking for the first time that night.

Tyrion glowered and accepted his defeat with a large gulp of wine. As his siblings traded verbal barbs, Jaime’s mind wandered to the mysterious woman from the night before.

_Who was she_ , he wondered. _The warrior made flesh._ Jaime’s cock stirred under the table, and he quickly covered his lap with a tablecloth before his erection was noticeable. He shouldn’t dwell on the woman. Members of the Kingsguard rarely took wives or sired children.

“The wedding feast will be the grandest the Crownlands has ever seen,” Cersei boasted. “Nobles were practically begging for an invitation. It was so satisfying, denying the ones who have spoken ill of me.”

“The only thing I care about is what ale will be served,” Tyrion said.

“There will be enough ale to drown all the rats in the Red Keep’s sewers. Maybe even enough to make Jaime dance with some besotted maid.”

He blushed, pushing away the suggestion. “Not nearly enough for that.”

* * *

The tall woman was in court the day before the wedding, and Jaime couldn’t keep his eyes off her. In the daylight he could see that she had freckles. Her nose had to have been broken at least twice. She wore a gown of azure that, while fitting her well, could not hide her muscular figure. A crest of suns and moons was embroidered on the left breast of her dress.

Jaime’s eye lit up in recognition at the sigil—it was for the Kingdom of Tarth. She had to be Princess Brienne of House Tarth. She must have been there for the wedding. Warmth blossomed in his chest at the thought of introducing himself to the Tarth princess. It would be so easy at a wedding, when introductions were expected. Mayhaps he would ask her to dance. Mayhaps she would say yes.

“What are you smiling like a fool for, boy?” King Aerys asked Jaime gruffly. He had dismissed all the nobles from the throne room after a musician played a song that displeased him.

“Nothing, your grace.”

The king sneered. “I have a mission for you, Lannister. Go to the Harrenhal castle and bring me back a bear pelt.”

Harrenhal? That was in the Riverlands Kingdom—it would take at least a two days ride to get there and back. He would miss the royal wedding.

“The Kingswood has just as many bears as the Riverlands,” Jaime replied.

“And I want a bear from Harrenhal,” Aerys said with a cruel twist of his lips.

Jaime’s stomach dropped in despair as he hollowly acquiesced. 

* * *

He prepared his horse the following night. Brushing his hand over Honor’s saddle, Jaime sighed. He had never felt more burdened by his white cloak. Arthur Dayne met him in the stables with sad eyes.

“I’m off to Harrenhal for a bear pelt,” Jaime told him bitterly. “Courtesy of the king.”

“Yes, he did it to be cruel to you,” Arthur said with a sigh. “He thought to keep you from attending your own sister’s wedding. But I won’t allow it.”

Jaime stared at his mentor in awe. “You would defy the king?”

“No, I will simply help a fellow Kingsguard in his duty.” Arthur pulled scissors from his satchel and motioned for Jaime to sit on a nearby barrel. “I will go to Harrenhal in your stead, and you will go to the feast in disguise.”

Arthur brushed his fingers through Jaime’s golden tresses and began cutting. As each lock of hair fell to the ground, Jaime felt lighter. “No one will be looking for you with short hair and a shaved face. Stay away from the king and your family, and you will be hidden in plain sight.”

When he was done, Arthur handed Jaime a shirt of silver silk and lace. It sparkled in the moonlight—almost magically. “Wear this,” he told his protege. “And carry this, just in case.” The Lord Commander placed a dagger in Jaime’s hands. The handle had gems of amethyst in the pattern of a falling star, and the blade was a shining silver—a relic of House Dayne. Jaime tucked the dagger into his boot.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “I am in your debt.”

Arthur only smiled in return before galloping off in the night.

Jaime dressed for the feast in his bedchamber, a bubbling excitement emanating from him. The silk garment draped perfectly off his shoulders. With steady hands, he shaved his face. He did look quite different, he thought. If he managed to stay out of sight from the Targaryens and Lannisters, Jaime would get away with the deception. That would be easy, for he only wanted the company of the princess from Tarth.


	3. Chapter 3

The wedding ceremony was as boring as Brienne had suspected it would be. She fought a yawn as the high septon droned on about matrimonial duty and blessings from the Mother and Father. Selwyn was also struggling. There was no seating in the Sept of Baelor, and his knees ached.

Finally, to the Tarth’s relief, Cersei and Rhaegar exchanged vows and completed their handfasting. The feast would follow immediately. 

Selwyn escorted his daughter to the celebration, her sapphire gown fluttering in the breeze. It was a Dornish style dress with layers of fine silk and flowing sleeves. The king’s latest mistress—a beauty from Saltshore—had insisted it would suit the princess, and it did. It made her ethereal and statuesque instead of gangly and uncomfortable. If his daughter couldn’t secure a husband wearing that, she would truly be a maid forever.

* * *

Brienne had never seen such an extravagant and excessive presentation of food and wine. The king’s coffers must be half empty now. There were seventy-seven different dishes of the finest food; it was madness.

Selwyn was drawn into conversation with the dowager queen of the Reach, Olenna Tyrell, leaving the Princess of Tarth to face society alone. 

Brienne saw a flash of red in the corner of her eye and dread befell her. It was Ronnet Connington—a former suitor. He had been particularly beastly. One look at her, and he had broken the engagement. The pain of her humiliation still stung.

He noticed the princess—who wouldn’t with her stature—and approached.

“Brienne the Beauty,” he smirked. “I see that no one has asked you to dance yet. Not shocking, considering your face is uglier than a horse in the Red Keep’s stables.”

She held her tongue and clenched her fists. _Words are wind,_ her father’s voice echoed in her mind. 

“What is it, princess? Too stupid to think of a response?” Ronnet sneered.

And then, a man as radiant as the sun came to her. He was so beautiful that Brienne forgot her courtesies and gawked openly.

“Do you speak to all high-born ladies like that?” he asked Connington pointedly.

“Who the fuck are you?” the red-headed man balked.

“A gentleman and a knight—two things you’ll never be.” Then the stunning man ignored Ronnet and focused on Brienne. With an elegant bow, he greeted her.

“May I have the pleasure of this dance?” he asked, and it took considerable fortitude for her knees not to give way. Stunned, she agreed, and he led her away from the awestruck face of Ronnet.

They joined the other couples on the dancefloor, and he gracefully placed his hand on Brienne’s waist. She held his other hand in a sweaty grip. Were people staring at her? The man was a few inches shorter than her—the gossips would be tittering at that. The princess’ worries grew like a storm but dissipated as soon as her dance partner started to lead, a brilliant smile on his face.

“Your dress is beautiful,” he whispered to her. “It goes well with your eyes.”

“T-thank you,” Brienne sputtered.

“They’re astonishing—I’ve never seen eyes so blue,” the man continued.

Brienne blushed a deep scarlet at his flattery. They danced thrice more, far longer than socially acceptable, but Brienne didn’t care one bit. She was walking on air, every spin brought her higher.

And then she fell, tumbling headfirst toward the ground when the mysterious stranger left abruptly as Baelor’s bells signaled midnight. He gave her a pained look before quickly slipping away into the crowd.

“Wait!” she called out, but he didn’t heed her cry. “I don’t even know your name!”

The princess darted after him, but he was fast—faster than she could be in formal slippers. He ran down the steps of the Red Keep and out into the night. Blinking back tears, Brienne took in a trembling breath. 

As the clouds parted, rays of moonlight illuminated a shining object on the stairs. The princess was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. It was a dagger—a beautiful weapon with precious stones and fine craftsmanship. Further inspection revealed that the blade was far sharper than the average dagger. _Valyrian steel_ _,_ Brienne realized with a gasp.

The mysterious man must have dropped this in his haste to leave. Clutching the blade close, Brienne was determined to find him. She returned to the feast to seek out the King of Tarth.

“Father!” Brienne cried. “I need to know the owner of this dagger.”

Selwyn looked at his daughter in confusion. 

“ _Please_. I must find him. I need to see him again.”

The words came tumbling out of Brienne—how they met, how long they danced, how quickly he left. The prospect of Brienne finally marrying set him into immediate action. When the wedding feast was over, they would meet with each noble house. They would find this man, Selwyn would make sure of it.

* * *

The Tarth’s called upon each house over the course of seven days. Brienne would present the dagger, inquiring about the owner. Each time, the nobles were ignorant as to who possessed the weapon.

_We’ll never find him_ _,_ Brienne thought dejectedly as they returned to their guest chambers. With a sad smile, her father embraced her.

“You should visit the training yard tonight, Starlight. Get out some of the frustration,” he suggested.

“How did you know I’ve been in the yard?” Brienne asked with a gulp.

“A father knows,” he replied with a fond smile.

That night, dressed in men’s clothing, Brienne went to the squire’s training yard. As she drilled with a wooden sword, the door to the armory swung open. In the threshold was the man she had been dreaming about, looking golden and perfect in candlelight.

“It’s you,” Brienne said, shock evident in her voice. He looked just as surprised to see the princess, but walked close to her.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

Taking her hand in his, the man bestowed a feather-light kiss to her knuckles. “My name is Jaime,” he said. 

The princess had a shock of realization at his identity. The golden hair, emerald eyes, and striking facial features signaled his house; he must be a Lannister _. Jaime Lannister_ —and Brienne didn’t care one bit. Being with him made her heart soar.

She smiled, tears gathering behind her lashes. “I am Brienne of Tarth,” she said. Then, taking the dagger from her breeches, she handed it to him. “You lost this.”

“Thank you,” Jaime replied warmly. “Would you like to dance, your grace?”

Raising her sword into a defensive position, the Princess of Tarth grinned.

* * *

A year of courtship later, the two wed. Jaime had left the Kingsguard not long after the royal wedding to become a knight in Tarth’s royal guard. He had never felt happier as the Crownlands shrank on the horizon from their wheelhouse. Brienne would love and protect him, as he would love and protect her.

Their wedding ceremony was brief, and the wedding feast was a loud, boisterous affair—as was the tradition on Tarth. Singers from all the Westerosi kingdoms came to entertain the adoring couple. Before a drunk noble could suggest a bedding, Jaime and Brienne slipped away from their celebration.

They ran to their bedchamber hand-in-hand. Brienne opened the door and flung Jaime inside. She blushed, forgetting her strength, and barred the door. She did not want their wedding night to be interrupted.

Jaime eyed her greedily, and the princess felt a rush of arousal. He came to her and kissed her neck softly, beginning to unlace the corset of her gown. She gasped quietly with each tender kiss.

“This is taking too long,” Brienne whispered in frustration. Jaime hummed in agreement and took the Valyrian dagger from his belt. With a swift slice, the corset’s binding broke and it fell to the ground with a thud. The Princess of Tarth smiled with delight as her new husband helped her out of her gown and small clothes.

She stood naked in front of Jaime—a warrior princess with scars, muscles and hair, and she was proud.

“I knew you’d be freckled beneath your clothes,” he said, kissing her lips delicately and running his hand down her side.

Slowly, he cupped her breast, running his thumb over the nipple. It hardened under his touch.

“Is this all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” Brienne hissed. “ _Please._ Please, touch me.”

With her encouragement, Jaime fondled both of his wife’s small breasts. Plucking her nipples—and her reaction to that—made his cock harden. With every pinch Brienne mewled in pleasure. Dropping to his knees, he kissed his princess on each of her thighs, coaxing them apart. Then, he kissed her cunt. Brienne cried out in surprise.

“What are you doing?” she panted.

He licked her in response, making her legs quiver. Holding Brienne’s firm asscheeks, Jaime licked her cunt from top to bottom, lapping at the wetness with vigor. The princess tried to remain still, but the way Jaime was lavishing her cunt made her legs weak. She held onto his golden hair, and he moaned into her.

The pleasure was all-consuming—rippling through Brienne’s body so intensely it made her head buzz. Jaime’s persistent stroking and sucking made her cunt indecently wet. 

“My wife’s cunt is a fine delicacy,” he said looking up at her wickedly.

“Why am I naked, and you are clothed?” she panted with a dark blush.

He laughed, standing up and stripping down to nothing. They both laid down on the bed, and Brienne cautiously eyed Jaime’s manhood. It was pinker than she thought it would be, and larger. Reaching out, she took his cock in hand and stroked it gently. Her husband sighed in pleasure and raised his hips as a signal to continue. Brienne stroked his cock again—this time with a confident hand. Jaime’s sighs transformed into strangled moans as his wife palmed him. Cupping him, Brienne licked the tip of his manhood, mimicking what he had done to her.

“Brienne,” Jaime hissed with a shiver.

She smiled up at him and rolled to the side of the bed. Crawling over her, Jaime kissed her as he spread her legs. The faint sour taste of herself on his lips made hot desire pool between Brienne’s legs.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” he said in her ear.

And then, Jaime entered her. He was slow, sheathing himself inch by inch. It wasn’t painful—breaking her ribs in a melee last year had been painful. Brienne sighed with pleasure as her husband filled her. With strong hands, she grabbed Jaime’s ass and thrust their hips together. He let out a deep, throaty moan and all semblance of his control slipped away. Thrusting hard, Jaime plunged his cock into his wife over and over again.

They moved together instinctually, like they had always been bound to each other. He felt so good inside her; every nerve in Brienne’s body was on fire.

“Jaime,” she sighed in a low voice that sounded foreign to her own ears. Something was building within the princess, though she could barely articulate what it was. “I need you.”

He kissed her deeply, snaking one hand down to her cunt and rubbing. That was all it took for Brienne to fall apart under him. Her cunt spasmed in ecstasy, tightening around her husband’s cock. A few erratic thrusts later he came, filling her with his warm seed.

They laid in bed together, slick with sweat and wetness from their lovemaking. Brushing a lock of hair from his face, Brienne kissed her lover.

Tomorrow they would have to be the Princess and Prince Consort of Tarth, but tonight they only had to be husband and wife. Her heart was full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dancing is more regency than medieval, but I don't care lol


End file.
